


The Boy in the Woods

by randomquixen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cancer, Happy Ending, M/M, Mates, Nobody Dies, Poisoning, but not really cancer, cameo from almost everyone important, minus the Hale fire, real wolves, stupid life choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:59:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomquixen/pseuds/randomquixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is going to make it to the coast before he dies, and not even the stupid black wolf that shows up is going to stop him. </p><p>Not even if the wolf was a werewolf, or his mate, or maybe is a better option for his future than dying of a stupid disease.</p><p>Okay, maybe he won't make it to the coast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this is not sad (in the end) or a cancer story. It is however wildly medically inaccurate. 
> 
> I did my best google-fu for this, but trust me, I stretched the truth a significant amount to make this work, but I mean, we're dealing with werewolves here, do we really care about my facts on cancer side-effects?
> 
> Update 3/5/15: I recently redid the end of this story, so proceed with the knowledge that its different(? i don't know why you should know this, but I felt the need to mention it)

 Stiles popped another pill as he started to unpack his bag and set up camp. He stretched his sore muscles, rolling his shoulders, and then turned to face the woods once again.

He was somewhere in Northern California at this point, just on the edge of some preserve. That meant he had made it across three states and was relatively close to reaching the coast.

Stiles unpacked his tent and started setting up camp. He kept his mind carefully blank and only focused on the task at hand.

So much time alone could easily turn thoughts dark and Stiles wasn’t interested in falling into bad habits today.

There was something alive in the air right now, something that thrummed beneath his skin. Maybe it was the spring time air, maybe it was the proximity to his destination, either way Stiles was excited.

The coast was only about two weeks away at his current pace and Stiles was actually starting to believe he might make it.

He wanted to be able to accomplish something by the end of all this.

The snap of a breaking branch had Stiles dropping his sleeping bag and whirling around, searching with his eyes through the dying light for the source of the noise.

His traced the outline of the trees, hunting for movement but he found nothing in the gloom. His heart’s erratic beat started to slow down and Stiles went back to his camp, shrugging his shoulders as he accepted the noise as a byproduct of living in the wild. He picked up his sleeping bag just in time for the rustle of the leaves to scare him again.

“Hello?” he called out, straining to see what was out there.

Blue eyes blinked back.

Stiles fell back, hitting the ground with an oomph and his hands scrambled around looking for a weapon.  Stiles crawled back slowly, his hand closing around a pole from his tent as he watched the black wolf slide from the shadow into his camp ground.

“Nice wolfy!” Stiles whispered, his voice shaking and heart battering his rib cage. “Good wolfy! No need to kill the nice human boy!” Stiles crawled further back, trying to get his feet under him, but the wolf was moving too fast and some prey part of Stiles’ brain was telling him it was a good idea to freeze. Maybe the wolf wouldn’t see him.

The wolf moved forward until it was about a foot from the soles of Stiles’ battered converse and then it locked eyes with him before slowly lowering its body to the ground.

Stiles held his breath, clenching every muscle, and struggled to fight the urge to scream.

“Good wolfy!” Stiles breathed out, a tremble on every syllable. The fear in Stiles’ voice seemed to make the wolf more comfortable in its welcome because it stretched out its front paws, pressing them against the bottoms of Stiles’ shoes and laid its head on its arms, still looking Stiles right in the eye.

For several minutes neither of them moved, and then the wolf, seeming content, closed its eyes.

It still took Stiles an embarrassingly long time to work up the courage to get up, but in his defense, he had a wild animal falling asleep at his feet. Having a wolf rip out his throat was not how he thought he would die.

Though it was considerably better than his current alternative.

Still, he wanted to recreate his mother’s post diagnosis trip of going cross country to the coast and the only way to do that was to survive the blood lusting canine that had invaded his camp ground.

Stiles slowly stood up, pausing in caution when he was on two feet, but the wolf didn’t move. He carefully skirted the wolf and reached down to grab his bag, forgoing the tent  and the sleeping bag, solely because he didn’t think he could risk spending that much more time in the wolf’s proximity.

It was only as he started to creep away from the site that the wolf once again opened it eyes and immediately swung its head to look in his direction and Stiles froze. It had a creepy ability to find his eyes and hold them, better than any human he had ever met and Stiles really had no idea what that meant .

When the wolf didn’t move, he started slowly backing up more, never taking his eyes from the wolf. It was only when he hit the tree line, convinced he was home-free, that the wolf stood up and trotted over to him. Stiles froze again and was just considering the merits of fight or flight when faced with a wolf when the furry canine lunged for his hand.

Stiles produced a squeal that no man, woman, or child could ever begrudge him and waited for death.

Instead he got a wet and slightly gloopy hand and the repetitive motions of a tongue caressing his fingers.

“What is my life?” Stiles asked the world at large.

Almost without meaning to, or perhaps Stiles really did have a death wish, (Dr. Greenberg seemed to think so), but Stiles let his hand curve around the wolf’s muzzle and gave it a slight scratch.

Just as Stiles was contemplating what was important enough to think about in his last moments of life, the wolf pressed up into his palm and dragged its side along his pant leg in some deranged attempt to pet itself, using Stiles’ body as an unwilling pet donor.

Stiles considered this might be a very realistic hallucination. He heard people with terminal illnesses had hallucinations all the time. Just because he wasn’t supposed to have them didn’t mean he couldn’t have them.

Stiles always considered himself special, maybe imaginary wolves were a part of that patented Stilinski brand of special snowflake that was all Stiles.

The wolf, completely unaware of Stiles’ internal debate about hallucinations, continued trying to rub itself all over Stiles’ pants and would nudge his hand every other turn in an attempt to get him to participate again. It was possible that the wolf was only interested in consensual petting, but when it up-ed the anti to head butting, Stiles decided to get with the program and rub his hand over the back of the wolf’s neck, lightly digging his fingers in and scratching.

When it comes to hallucinations, go big or go home.

If wolves could purr, Stiles was convinced that this one would be purring like a Ferrari motor.

It took a few more minutes of petting the giant black wolf which had randomly wandered up to him in the middle of the woods, but Stiles eventually returned to sanity and slowly started to inch away from the black beast.

The wolf ducked its head as if to say “I see what you are doing,” and then nudge his hand to say, “that doesn’t mean I gave you permission to stop with the petting.”

Stiles just held up his hands in a placating gesture and walked back, moving towards the center of the campsite again and towards his tent which was still haphazardly laying on the ground.

The wolf seemed to understand that Stiles was done with the petting, but instead of going on its merry way, it sat down and started watching him.

Stiles was hesitant to turn his back on the giant asshole, possibly killer, possibly part overgrown kitten-wolf but if the thing hadn’t attacked to far, he thought he might be safe enough to gather his stuff and leave what was clearly the wolf’s area without worrying about replacing his tent when he finally found a place to sleep.

He got his shit together as fast as possible and the wolf was still sitting there, unmoving, so Stiles kind of waved at it in a “so long!” sort of way and then started trekking out of the site and back into the thick of the woods. He got about six feet in before he heard a branch snap behind him and turned to see the black wolf following him.

Stiles let out and exacerbated sigh and flailed his arms at the thing, “No! You were supposed to stay there! I let you have my camp site and everything! You can’t follow me! Come on man, not cool!”

The wolf just kind of tilted its head and stared at him. When Stiles didn’t make a move, it sat down again and wagged its tail a little.

“Ugh!” Stiles spun around and continued into the woods, “I give up my perfectly good little meadow to a wolf that totally invades my space, and now I’m wondering around in the woods, in the dark, trying to find somewhere decent to sleep, but does the wolf have the decency to leave me alone after I give it my camp site, no! It has to follow me and make sure I leave the area completely. I’m probably going to get killed by a bear or, you know, more deranged wolves. All because some greedy little wolfy bastard kicked me out of my meadow.”

 Stiles tripped on a branch and fell face first.

The wolf gave an alarmed little yip and ran forward to stand in front of Stiles’ face.

Stiles looked up at the wolf, “or you know,” he spit out some leaves, “I’m going to die by tripping over a branch and breaking my neck because I’m traipsing through the woods in the dark and can’t see to save my life.”

The wolf gave another worried yip and nudged at Stiles’ face with its nose.

“I’m fine,” he said, gently pushing its face away and standing up. Stiles rubbed his stinging palms on his pant leg, “just a little scratched up, could have been worse.”

The wolf growled a little and Stiles had apparently lost all sense of self-preservation because he didn’t even feel threatened by it. He just skirted the wolf and continued on his way into the woods.

The wolf growled again and then seemed to decide Stiles was doing things all wrong because it started herding him like a freaking sheep and forcing him to turn around and start walking towards where he just came from.

“Are you serious? Are you freaking serious?” Stiles spluttered, but he let himself be led back to the meadow. “What? What now?” he asked the wolf, but predictably the wolf did not respond and simply stared at him.

“Ugh! You suck!” Stiles spun on his heel and started to head out into the woods again, going in another direction.

The wolf jumped around him and herded Stiles back into the center. The wolf stopped, tapped its nose to his shoe, then to the ground, then looked up at him.

“What?”

The wolf did the same thing, nose to the shoe, then the ground, then it looked at him.

“You want me to stay here?”

The wolf sat back on its haunches and let its tongue roll out, panting like it didn’t have a care in the world,

“You suck.” Stiles said again as he dropped his stuff on the ground and started to unpack again. “couldn’t make up your damn mind cause you’re a  freaky domesticated wolf-dog creature that wants petting and herding and is so taciturn it forces me out of my camp site at night to go traipsing through the woods…”

Stiles was interrupted in his diatribe by a chorus of howls. “Oh shit! There are more of you?” the wolf just gave him the wolf equivalent of a bitch face before it started doing a weird little trot, moving back and forth across the ground between him and the source of the noise.

“Is that your family?” Stiles asked. The wolf just looked at him.

“Do you need to go?” the wolf just kind of looked at him again, but this time it seemed to nod a little.

Stiles was going insane.

“It’s okay.” He tried to placate the wolf, who didn’t seem to want to leave him.

The wolf danced back and forth for a moment more before it came up, touched its nose to Stiles’ shoe, then to the ground, and then looked up at him.

“I’m staying here for the night, I promise.” Stiles said, and never in his wildest dreams did he think he would have say that so sincerely to a wolf.

The wolf seemed to need the sincerity though because it nodded and then went bounding off into the woods and disappeared from sight.

Stiles stood for a moment more, staring at the spot where the wolf had disappeared and contemplated leaving and finding another field, despite his promise, or at least trying to sleep in a tree or something.

Then Stiles started thinking about trying to walk through the woods at night and trying to find another place to sleep and that seemed like a lot of effort.

As for the tree thing, Stiles was not Katniss and would totally fall out of said tree, whether he tied himself in or not. He was just that kind of person.

So Stiles set up his tent, in the dark because the wolf was a dick, and crawled into his sleeping bag.

He fell asleep feeling surprisingly safe.

Stiles couldn’t even pretend that was normal, but he hoped it was his subconscious telling him this was all just some crazy dream and he would wake up tomorrow and none of this would be real.

But hey, if he was hoping for crazy hallucinations and dreams, he would hope his crazy dreams started long before his crazy little black wolf appeared.

 

Stiles woke early as sunlight filtered through the thin walls of his tent.

He struggled up out of his sleeping bag and rolled out of the zippered opening. The meadow was the same as the night before, just his random little grassy patch in the middle of the woods.

There was no black wolf.

Stiles shrugged and got to work on packing up his camp. Not feeling hungry, he skipped breakfast, but he made sure he took one of his pills.

While he worked, he sent dubious looks at the tree line, but he didn’t see anything.

When the site was cleared, Stiles pulled out his compass and started walking west, heading through the thicket of trees and into the wild again.

Only two more weeks, he thought, and all this would be over, he could say he accomplished something at the end. He wasn’t sure who he was planning on telling, considering both his parents were gone and he hadn’t had any ties with anyone where he lived. Hell, the person he was closest to in the world was probably Dr. Greenberg, and wasn’t that fantastic?

Stiles sighed, clutching his aching stomach, and kept moving. Maybe he could start writing all this down? Make his life mean something so long as someone read about what he decided to do?

When Stiles' mom had been diagnosed Frontotemporal dementia, she left home and walked to the coast. She said that when she arrived at the coast and looked out over the sea, she felt a sense of rightness, of completeness, and accepted that she was dying.

Stiles doubted he would feel anyone of that but he wanted the feeling that he was connected to his mother, that he was doing something to remember her. It didn't matter that they would die of different things.

His father had been shot in the line of duty six years later, there was nothing Stiles could really do to celebrate his last acts other than remember that it happened.

Stiles simply resolved to go buy a notebook next time he passed through a town. Maybe recording it all would make the Stilinski name last a little longer on Earth.

He worked his way through the woods for several hours, probably covering at least eight miles, before he saw something flash out of the corner of his eye.

Stiles had almost convinced himself that the wolf had just been a figment of his overactive imagination, a product of too much time alone, but it came bounding up to him through the woods, tongue flying in the wind.

As it got close, it didn’t slow, and instead leaped up onto him, knocking him to the ground.

“Fuck!” he swore as he hit the ground. This is it, this is how I die, he thought, just in time for the wolf to start licking his face.

“Ah! Ew! Get off!” Stiles spluttered, pushing the hulking beast off him and sitting up. The wolf relented for barely a moment before it came right back up and buried its nose in the crook of his neck.

Stiles half-heartedly scratched its neck while silently questioning that this was his life. Then he gently pushed the wolf away again and stood up.

The wolf backed up a few steps, but once Stiles had his feet under him again, the wolf growled slightly.

“What?” he asked. The wolf touched Stiles’ shoe with its nose and then pointed it back in the direction Stiles had come from.

“I stayed there! I stayed the whole night! But I had to get going, I don’t have long.” Stiles said, rolling his eyes at the wolf.

He started walking west again and the wolf jumped after him, and started trying to herd him back the way he had come.

“Oh no, that’s not gonna work this time, I have to keep going west.”

The wolf tilted its head as if in question.

“I’m heading for the coast.”

Stiles, swear to god up in heaven, saw the wolf nod in understanding.

Stiles dropped his bag and started digging through for the pill bottle. When he found it, he flipped it over again and again, looking for a label he knew wasn’t there. Dr. Greenberg had slipped him the bottle and told him to start taking them immediately, before they started the tests. An experimental treatment. Stiles had found it odd the pills weren’t labeled, but trusted his doctor and took them obediently.

Now he was frantically wondering if they had side effects, like, you know, hallucinations?

Stiles dropped the pills back in his bag with a huff and the wolf looked between him and the pills questioningly.

“Don’t ask.” Stiles said, then picked up his stuff and set off again, wolves be damned.

Instead the wolf started following him, first walking by his side, then seeming to get bored and dashing off ahead. It still always kept Stiles in sight.

Stiles continued to question his life choices, but he learned to accept that he now had a random wolfy companion on his one and only trip to the coast.

Stiles watched the wolf prance back and forth, weaving between the trees, jumping over logs, and occasionally disappearing from sight only to reappear minutes later from a different direction all together.

For the first time Stiles had to admit that it wasn’t as bad when he wasn’t alone.

When it started to get a little dark, he started to become desperate for a small field or a meadow or something, somewhere to set up camp. Just as he started to reconsider the merits of sleeping in a tree, the wolf came trotting up and started herding him off to the left.

Stiles followed with only slight trepidation and found himself in the perfect little field. He rubbed the wolf’s neck as a thank you and started setting up camp.

The wolf laid on the ground and watched him for several minutes before it seemed to get bored again and went trotting off into the forest and out of sight.

Stiles laughed as he sat down and picked at his exciting dinner of bread and jerky. He wasn’t often hungry anymore so didn’t bother with trying to find more interesting food. He then popped another pill and got ready to go to sleep.

Right as he was about to crawl into his tent, he heard the chorus of wolf howls, this time much farther away and his wolf came back into the meadow and trotted right up to him.

“Going home big guy?” Stiles asked. The wolf nodded and then rubbed its side against Stiles, licked his hand once and then disappeared back into the woods.

Stiles just shook his head and went to bed.

The next day Stiles made it into a town, finding out he was somewhere called Beacon Hills. He stopped in the store and replenished his supplies and bought a notebook and some pens to start recording things about his journey.

Other than that, It went the same way every day.

Stiles would wake up, take his pill, pack his camp and start moving towards the coast. After about an hour or so, his wolf would find him and join him on his trek. Stiles would pet the wolf and talk to it about random things and the wolf would prance around, occasionally disappearing to go run off in the woods.

On one memorable day, the wolf had come back with a dead rabbit in its mouth, but Stiles had been “all hell to the no!” about that and sent the wolf to get rid of it. The wolf came back dejected but Stiles just spent a couple extra minutes petting it and telling it it was a good wolf and a great provider and it seemed to perk up again.

Every night the wolf would lead Stiles to another place for a camp site. Stiles would unpack, eat, take his pill, and write a little about his trip, his purpose, and his life. The wolf would sit at his feet, liking the occasional scratch Stiles would give.

Then just after night fell, there would be a chorus of howls, each day a little farther away, and the wolf would lick Stiles goodbye before disappearing into the woods.

Stiles felt himself grow stronger with each day he spent with the wolf, but there was still a pain in his gut and a weakness in his body that he knew the wolf couldn’t cure. It was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the death growing inside of him, he just hopped he made it to the coast before then.

It was just another day of walking, now only a week and a half out from the coast, when the wolf showed up earlier than usual. It followed him like any other day, played and pranced and jumped, but always kept him in its sight line.

Stiles wondered if animals could sense sickness.

When it started getting darker, Stiles was more than ready to make camp. His muscles were more sore than usual and his skin was starting to get irritated. He found several lumps and bumps and discolorations. He covered them with his clothes and he pressed his hand to his stomach, stopping for a moment before popping another pill and sitting down next his bag.

 The wolf curled into him and neither moved for a very long time.

Eventually tiredness beat out the urge to sit and nurse his wounds so Stiles stood up and started setting up his tent. He had his sleeping bag all rolled out by the time the chorus of wolves started up.

“See you later, buddy.” Stiles said tiredly to the wolf, but the wolf didn’t leave, instead it climbed into the tent.

“Whatcha doing? Don’t you have to go home?”

The wolf responded by crawling head first into the sleeping bag.

“Dude, that’s mine!”

The wolf turned around inside the sleeping bag and crawled back up so its head was sticking out the top. Then it slowly rolled to the side as if inviting Stiles to share it.

“I hate you.” Stiles grumbled but he was too tired to force the issue and instead climbed inside right next to the wolf and curled into the warm fur. Possibly because Stiles was crazy.

“’s nice.” Stiles murmured before dropping off to sleep.

 

Stiles woke feeling very warm and very comfortable. He did, however have a slight discomfort where something was pressing against his hip. He rolled his hip a little trying to get comfortable around the rock he had apparently built his tent over and was answered with a low moan that was not his own.

Stiles opened his eyes to stare at the most perfectly sculpted chest of muscle he could ever imagine, only to find it connected to the rest of a man that Stiles had never seen before and was currently lying on top of.

Stiles squealed, flailed and struck the man on the jaw as he struggled to get out of the sleeping bag and out of the reach of the insane maniac man who crawled into his tent at some point during the night.

The man clenched his arms around Stiles, not seeming to understand what was going on as he was still partially asleep, before opening his eyes properly and looked into Stiles eyes in a way that was eerily familiar.

The man released Stiles and Stiles scrambled out of the bag and out of the tent. He fell on his butt and stared in horror as a naked man with flagging morning wood came out and stood in front of him.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen, I didn’t think I would change back in my sleep. I was convinced that I would still feel too unsafe with us out in the open.” The man just sort of waved his palm in the air like he was placating while landing a plane and Stiles just stared at him dumbly.

“What?”

“I…” the man seemed at a loss for words, so he did this whole body shudder thing, that turned into a dark ripple, then he landed on all fours as a black wolf. The black wolf.

Now it was Stiles turn to stammer.

Stiles got onto his knees and crawled over to his bag before reaching in and grabbing a pill, which he popped quickly before turning back around and facing the once again naked man.

“What are those for?” he asked, indicating the pills.

“None of your business.” Stiles snapped. “Now explain yourself.” Stiles sort of generally waved his hand at the entirety of the wolf/man’s body.

The man sat down on a log, completely unashamed of his nudity, and stared Stiles in the eye. “I’m a werewolf.”

“A werewolf? “ Okay, Stiles had to admit that was pretty awesome, “Doesn’t that mean you need a full moon?”

“No, that’s just Hollywood crap.”

“Oh sure, just Hollywood crap.” Stiles sassed at him. “Why were you following me? Was I in your territory or something?”

The man seemed a little abashed, “at first, yeah, but then you left that after the first day, but I wanted to get to know you and make sure you didn’t get hurt.”

“Get to know me? Why?”

The man scratched the back of his neck. “So werewolves are really good at smell, and we can identify things by scent. You smelled…good?”

“I smell good? So you followed me as I walked sixty miles?”

“It was a little rough trying to get home at night, but werewolves are fast, so it wasn’t that big a deal.”

“You--? You ran--? Sixty miles?” Stiles spluttered.

“I couldn’t leave my family, but I didn’t want to leave you either. “

“You have a family?” That actually made sense with the wolf calls, but Stiles wasn’t running at top gear yet.

“Yeah, my mom is the alpha. She’s actually better at explaining things that I am, maybe I could take you to meet them?” The man looked unfairly hopeful and Stiles had a strong urge to acquiesce to his requests.

“They’re sixty miles away?” It took Stiles three days to get this far and he would lose twice that getting back, not to mention the time he stayed there.

Stiles glanced at the notebook still lying on his bag. Was this really worth giving up on his goal of seeing the coast?

“I can move faster than you, so if I carry you it should only take us a quarter of the time.”

Who was Stiles kidding, werewolves beat a view of some sand, rocks, and water any day.

“Okay.” Stiles said.

The man got this huge, sappy grin on his face and Stiles’ insides melted a little.

The man turned his back and hunched over a little, giving Stiles an excellent view of his very naked butt.

“Hop on,” the naked man said.

Stiles blanched. “What?”

The man turned around again, “ I have to carry you there, the best way to do that is a piggyback ride.” The man paused, “I could always carry you like this,” the man stuck his arms out in the traditional bridal carry.

“Piggyback is just fine!”

Stiles was not being carried like a damsel in distress for the next sixty miles.

Stiles walked up to the very naked man and sort of flailed a little before settling with his hands around the man’s neck and hopping up. The man grabbed his legs and fit them tightly around his chest and started walking forward.

“Comfortable?” The man asked.

“This feels like Twilight.”

“Please don’t compare me to Twilight.” The man sighed.

“Sorry, dude, now I’m just going to envision you as sparkling.”

 “I’m not even a vampire and don’t call me dude.”

Stiles was a little stuck on the thought that there might be vampires around, whether or not they sparkled being unimportant, but he brushed it all aside to focus on a far more important question.

“If you don’t want me to call you dude, you should tell me what you name is.”

The man stopped walking for a moment and stood frozen to the ground.

“Derek.” he said gruffly, but Stiles was positive he was embarrassed for not introducing himself before.

“Nice to meet you Derek.” Stiles said, reaching around and extending his right hand to shake.

Derek reached up and clutched it lightly, “and you are?” he asked.

Stiles sort of blanched again, “Oh, yeah, I never really thought about introducing myself to the random black wolf that was following me around. I’m Stiles.”

“Is Stiles a name?” Derek asked.

“Stiles is my name, ergo, it is indeed a name.”

Derek just grunted and then started picking up speed.

“How fast can you run?” Stiles asked.

“Fast.”

“Is there a number?”

“I never thought it important to find one.”

“We are so figuring this out later.” Stiles said with conviction.

He was fairly positive he caught Derek smiling, something small and adorable, at the thought of them spending more time together.

 

“So like… werewolves?” Stiles asked, facing Mrs. Talia Hale, the resident alpha of the Hale pack.

Stiles had already been introduced to a litany of faces that were all members of said pack while Derek had hovered over his shoulder.

Mrs. Hale had already explained betas, alphas, and omegas, the basic abilities of werewolves, the process of turning, and had attempted to highlight some of the more interesting mythological creatures and whether or not they were real.

Vampires are not, in fact, a thing.

“And… mates?” Stiles asked.

That had been the big shock, that something about what Derek had smelled was about compatibility on a cellular and magical scale. Go figure.

“Yes,” Talia said patiently.

Stiles was still a little stuck on absorbing the whole “werewolves are real” thing.

“It is actually uncommon to find a true mate,” Talia reiterated, “especially when so young.”

So young.

Those words rang like bells in Stiles head because he had heard them from one too many websites and one too many doctors.

Derek was young and if he pledged his life to Stiles, he would probably never move on, wolves really only gave their love once.

But Stiles was dying, and he couldn’t condemn Derek to a life where the only person he would ever love only got to love him back for three months. At most.

Stiles looked up at Talia and was suddenly grateful she had insisted that Derek wait in another room while they talked. She said Derek couldn’t hear them through these walls as she probably didn’t want Derek to hear it if Stiles took it badly, but Stiles was just glad Derek wouldn’t get to hear how excited he had been and how he still couldn’t commit to Derek.

“I’m sick.” he told Talia, and she blinked for several moments before nodding for him to continue. “I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer and was told I only had six months to live, at most. That was three months ago.”

“Derek mentioned he saw you taking pills.” Talia said, her voice was calm and revealed none of the emotion she might be feeling.

“You said werewolves mate for life, that they only will ever love one person.” Stiles saw Derek’s happy little smile in his mind’s eye and smiled sadly himself. “I could see myself falling in love with him easily. I would spend the rest of my life with him in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t spend the rest of his life with me. I don’t think I could do that to him.

“You said most wolves never find their true mate, that they still fall in love with others and live happy lives. I think Derek should have a chance at that, instead of tying his life to a dying man.” Stiles wiped a few tears from his eyes.

Talia studied him for a moment more before she gave her own sad smile. “You are older and wiser than your years, and I can see how you would have been a good match for my son.” Her smile turned a little more hopeful, “there is a possible alternative. The bite could cure you of your cancer, but the bite has a death rate of its own. At your age and with your health, there is a fifty-fifty chance that you would survive the bite.”

Stiles let hope well in his chest. “fifty-fifty is better than a 100% chance of death.”

Talia smiled. “I have a friend, a doctor of sorts, I just want him to give you a quick physical, make sure that there is nothing that would hinder you from turning. If it didn’t work, I wouldn’t want to rob you of the time you have left.”

Stiles nodded, “when can I see him.”

“We can leave now, let me just tell Derek.”

“Wait!” Stiles reached up and caught her arm, “if you tell him I am sick, that I am leaving because I don’t want him to get attached to me if I am only going to die, do you think he would really let me go?”

Talia looked him in the eye with a gaze so very similar to her son. “I was just going to tell him we were going to go visit Deaton to explain a few more things about the supernatural, but you’re very right. If Derek finds out you’re dying, he won’t ever leave your side, he will pledge himself to you in a moment, and you and I both don’t want that to happen. Let’s keep it between us until Deaton clears you for the bite.”

Stiles nodded and released her arm.

 

Stiles wasn’t sure what he pictured when Talia had mentioned Deaton. Somehow, her saying “a doctor of sorts” didn’t really translate into veterinarian.

Stiles walked past the cages of barking dogs with trepidation.

“Mr. Stilinksi.”  Deaton addressed him, his voice significantly higher than what Stiles had imagined. The man seemed harmless, but Talia’s regard of him told Stiles otherwise.

“Dr. Deaton.” Stiles nodded.

Deaton asked him to sit on the animal examining table and went through a variety of tests.

Deaton poked him with a feather. Deaton prodded him with flowers, then with herbs.

Deaton laid a ring of dust around Stiles and asked him to cross it. Stiles did so with no problem.

Deaton asked him to make a ring of dust around Talia. Asked Stiles to believe it would keep her in the ring. It did.

Deaton looked exasperated.

“It would appear that Stiles has a very strong Spark.” He announced after several minutes of quiet deliberation. “which would make the bite terminal for him.”

Talia sagged, and Stiles started thinking about how he was going to spend his last three months now that all hope was once again lost.

“However,” Deaton continued, “Sparks have a better chance of surviving most common maladies. It’s possible, with treatment, that Stiles could overcome the cancer.”

“Dr. Greenberg said he had some other experimental treatments that he wanted me to try.” Stiles said suddenly, “I didn’t really want to prolong the inevitable, especially because I thought I had nothing to live for, but now….” Stiles looked at Talia, “I could start with Dr. Greenberg as soon as possible.”

Talia smiled a little sadly, “we can get you a flight as soon as possible, but as for Derek…”

“I’m not going to ask him to wait for me, not on the chance that I still might die from this.” Stiles said. “I’ll tell him goodbye for now, and if I beat this, I’ll come back. Assuming he’s still single, maybe we can try out this whole mate thing.” Stiles’ smile was half-hearted, but now he had a real reason to live, someone to live for, and he hadn’t had anyone like that in a long time.

Now he had a reason to hope.

 

Stiles walked back into the Hale house hours later. Talia had already called and purchased his ticket back to Nevada and back to Dr. Greenberg.

All that was left was to say goodbye to Derek.

Stiles found him sitting on the front porch, watching the sunset.

Derek’s face was lit by the fading sunlight, making him look younger than his twenty-one years. Derek may have been the older one, but he had never known loss, had never been aged by a deadline on his life.

Stiles smiled sadly as he sat down next to Derek. He could really see spending his life with this man.

If only he wasn’t dying.

“Hey, how was Deaton’s?” Derek asked, looking at Stiles out of the corner of his eye.

“It was good, he explained a lot of stuff about werewolves and mates and what it all means.”

“Oh yeah?” Derek asked, smiling slightly.

Stiles’ heart started beating rapidly. “Yeah, it’s… a lot of responsibility to be a mate.” Stiles said, choosing his words carefully, “you have to make decisions that are for the best for your partner.”

Derek looked at him. “your heart is beating really quickly. It… has an irregular beat.” Derek tilted his head, likely listening, “It’s different, I like it.”

Stiles spoke a little breathlessly. “I’m going back to Nevada tonight.”

Derek nodded, “Okay.” He smiled slightly. “I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”

“Yeah…” Stiles said, he smiled sadly and then sat in silence with Derek while they watched the sun set.

When the sun was long gone, Talia came out to the porch and called Stiles.

“It’s time.” She said, her features expressionless.

“Okay,” Stiles said and stood to go.

Derek stood up with him, “Bye, Stiles.” He said, and then wrapped Stiles in the biggest, warmest bear hug, as if he could keep Stiles there with only his force of will.

“Goodbye, Derek” Stiles said, then stepped back and followed Talia out the door.

He looked back once as he got in the car with Mrs. Hale and saw Derek watching them from the front porch. Derek held up a single hand as a final goodbye, and Stiles started to doubt that Derek realized that Stiles wasn’t coming back, at least not for a long time.

 

Stiles arrived back in Nevada to a relieved and practically euphoric Dr. Greenberg. He entered treatment almost immediately.

Almost every day he wrote to Talia and Talia wrote back. She told him about Derek, about his childhood and his everyday life. She never mentioned how he was reacting to Stiles leaving him.

In exchange, Stiles wrote about his own life, about his lost parents, about his cancer diagnosis and how he handled it, he even sent the little notebook he had been keeping since he met Derek in the woods that day.

Deaton sent him books and connections for studying magic and his spark. It turned out Stiles was more than capable of the basics and he was even moving on to the more advanced stuff. He studied every day while he was receiving his treatments. He found that they distracted him from the stomach pain and the weakening muscles.

Dr. Greenberg was a constant in everything. He was forever telling Stiles they would beat this together. He personally managed every one of Stiles’ in office treatments, made sure Stiles always had his supply of pills. Now that they were being persciped more legally, they had a label for a fairly common stomach cancer prescription, unsurprisingly, hallucinations were not a side effect.

Though everything Dr. Greenberg tried to be a friend to him, even going so far as to ask Stiles to call him by his first name, invited him out to meals several times, would try to hold Stiles hand when he was in pain.

That threw Stiles off a little, but he just made sure that Dr. Greenberg knew the limitations of their relationship, even made an effort to mention Derek several times, and how he was excited to be getting back to the Hale family.

Dr. Greenberg didn’t like that.

It was only after five months of treatments, a total of eight months of pain, that Stiles found out the truth of his affliction.

It was the same day that Dr. Greenberg’s car had broken down half way in to meet Stiles for his treatment.

Stiles missed the doctor’s frantic voice message not to come in and went up to the front desk asking about his treatment.

“You’re here to see, Dr. Greenberg?” asked the nurse.

“Yeah, I have a ten o’clock appointment.” Stiles said, tapping his fingers on the desk. The pain hadn’t been as bad today, but he had run out of pills several days ago and needed another prescription. He’d meant to come in sooner but he hadn’t received any letter responses from the Hales in a few weeks and he was a little preoccupied. He put the empty pill bottle from his newest prescription on the counter, “I also need a refill.”

The nurse picked up the bottle and looked at it. Her eyebrows pulled together and she looked up at Stiles in confusion. “Dr. Greenberg prescribed them to you?”

“Yeah, is something wrong? I googled the drug, a lot of people are prescribed this for stomach cancer.” Stiles said, feeling suddenly defensive about his pills.

“Yes, it is a common drug, but Dr. Greenberg just published an article about how this drug had more side effects than benefits, he never prescribes it to his patients.” She pursed her lips. “What did the pills in this bottle look like?”

Stiles had an uncomfortable feeling in his chest, “they were plastic capsules, half purple half gray.”

The nurse visibly started, “they should be oblong white pills.”

Stiles heart started beating faster and irregularly. “What does that mean?”

The nurse pushed back from the desk and started heading to the back. “Let’s get you back to Dr. Martin. I think she may need to run some tests.”

Stiles heart dropped to his stomach.

 

“Arsenic poisoning? For how long?” Stiles asked.

Dr. Martin looked back at him from the charts that she had been studying for several minutes.

“Most likely? Since the very beginning. Didn’t you say Dr. Greenberg snuck you that first bottle of pills before confirming his diagnosis of stomach cancer?”

“Yes, but—“

“No buts, arsenic poisoning has the symptoms of stomach pain, coughing, lack of appetite, and irregular heartbeat among other things. Skin lesions are also very common.” Stiles rubbed his arms and thought back to Derek’s offhand comment on his irregular heart. “Arsenic poisoning is commonly misdiagnosed for other diseases such as cancer, but I don’t think that it was a misdiagnosis. We’ve called Dr. Greenberg several times; he seems to have fallen off the map, but he did to have a lot of information about you in his office. Did you ever give him a photo of yourself?”

“No!” Stiles near shouted, his voice going up several octaves.

Dr. Martin took a deep breath but what he said seemed to confirm her suspicions. “He had a framed photo of you on his desk. He talked about you a lot, but we didn’t particularly think it was odd. Everyone has a patient or two that they get invested in. I myself only became worried when you left about five or six months ago, he was extremely erratic in response to you leaving, mumbling about him not treating you, about not being able to save you. It made us all a little uncomfortable. We’ve seen him like this before, a patient named Bobby Finstock who died of stomach cancer several years ago. Though I’m starting to think that wasn’t stomach cancer either.”

“So he was giving me small amounts of arsenic for months? He let me believe I was dying? He let me—“ leave Derek? Stiles cut himself off before he said it.

Stiles had already bought the ticket to go back while he was in the waiting room.

“I’m sorry Mr. Stilinski. The important thing now is that you are no longer exposed to the arsenic in the pills. Luckily his ‘treatment’ was just saline and won’t do any additional harm. The symptoms should fade soon. There isn’t really a treatment for this type of poisoning, but you need to be visiting doctors frequently.”

“I can do that, but I will be heading back to California tonight. I can find someone there to treat me.”

“Okay Mr. Stilinski, I wish you luck.”

 

Stiles rented a car from the airport and drove to the Hale house.

He wasn’t sure what to expect because he hadn’t had any letters back from them in the last several weeks, and he worried that he might not be welcome.

He could only try.

He drove through the preserve and he passed a broken shed that Talia had told him was where Derek fell from the roof and broke his arm; Derek’s first broken bone. He passed a tree with bits of plywood stuck in it that she had written was where Derek and his sisters had started a tree house in a Robinson family inspired dream but gave up halfway through. Then Stiles passed one of the meadows he had camped in those many months ago.

When Stiles finally pulled up to the Hale house, he understood why no one had been responding to his letters.

What was left of the once beautiful house was only ash and charred wood.

He stepped out of the car and stood in front of the house he had imagined might one day be his home and he felt the death that hung in the air like a physical pressure on his soul.

Stiles got back in the car and drove away.

 

Kate Argent, likely paramour and so-called girlfriend of Derek Hale, was charged with arson and thirteen counts of murder. There was only one survivor of the fire, Peter Hale, who was now in a coma in Beacon Hills Long Term Care Center. Kate Argent was still at large.

The irony was not lost on Stiles that he had left Derek so that the he would never know the loss of a loved one, but then Derek moved on only to date a woman who murdered everyone he had ever loved.

Stiles left California that same night and decided to devote his life to helping those who needed it and protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. He contacted some of the people Deaton had mentioned were sparks or who trained sparks and he started to learn how to really utilize the gifts he had.

He kept a photo of the Hale family in his wallet as a way to keep his motivation, and wished he could have saved them every day.

 

 

“Hey Derek, are mates real?” Erica asked, swinging upside down from his pull up bar.

Laura looked up from the table where she was working on some sort of paperwork from the Secretary of State. Apparently pretending that you died in a fire, only to return seven years later, perfectly healthy, meant you had to fill out a lot of paper work and answer a lot of questions.

The three of them, Cora, Laura, and Derek, had only come back to Beacon Hills after they found out their uncle Peter had not only woken from his coma, but killed several members of an alpha pack before running through town killing everyone who was involved in setting the fire in the first place. Everyone including Kate Argent.

It had taken all three of them and the betas that Peter had turned, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and a young kid named Scott, to kill Peter and stop his rampage.

“Derek?” Erica asked, flipping down from the bar and landing neatly on her feet, “Did you hear me? Is there a perfect mate out there for me?”

Derek held in a snarl. He hated thinking about his mate.

“No, there are no such things as perfect mates.” He grumbled, then stalked over to the weights to give himself something heavy to move around. It kept him from throwing things.

Laura sighed. “What Derek means is that yes, mates are real, but they are far from perfect, and sometimes… sometimes they reject their chosen wolf.”

Isaac, who was had been sitting on the couch, suddenly got a wide eyed look. The kid was far too perceptive for his own good. “Did Derek have a mate?” he asked with absolutely no tact, but somehow the damn kid knew the answer.

Derek pursed his lips as Scott and Boyd perked up and started paying rapt attention.

“Yes, I met a person that was supposed to be my perfect partner, at least on a biological level, but he said that being a mate was a lot of responsibility, and apparently that was more than he was looking for.”

Derek still had nightmares where he heard Stiles’ rapid irregular heartbeat jackrabbit-ing away in his head as Stiles ran away from Derek but in these dreams he came back only to set the fire himself.

It was obvious Stiles hadn’t been able to accept the supernatural in the world, it wasn’t a big leap that he would try to destroy what he couldn’t believe.

Cora flopped onto the couch next to Isaac and gave him a nouggie. “That’s ancient history.” she announced flippantly. “What we should be worrying about is this witch clan, I heard the cops found another body.” She dropped her voice, “this one kept screaming that there were bug crawling all over him, and then scratched off his own skin trying to ‘get them off.’”

Laura groaned and dropped her head into her hands while Scott and Isaac gave twin looks of disgust.

“Maybe we should consider calling in some help. We haven’t been able to find them yet and this is their forth murder. We can’t even find a pattern for their killings.” Boyd suggested.

Laura met Derek’s eyes from across the room.

“We haven’t said hi to Deaton since we came back, it might be a good idea to drop him and ask if he could help us at all.” Laura said, raising it like a suggestion, while really she was asking Derek’s permission.

He held an immense dislike for Deaton, solely because he had been the last person to try to teach Stiles about werewolves, and then Stiles had left almost immediately after coming back from the vet’s.

Derek sighed, they couldn’t keep letting these witches cast spells in their territory, other packs might see them as too weak to hold their own. “Okay.”

 

Deaton may have been surprised to see them, but he didn’t show it. The man had grown even more impassive in the years since Derek had last seen him.

“Dr. Deaton,” Laura said with a smile, “It’s been a long time.”

“Indeed, Alpha Hale, a long time indeed.” Deaton nodded to himself like it was all a big philosophical question.

Laura pretended not to be phased, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the killings that are happening around town?”

“I have. A witches’ cult I believe. I must warn you though, I have been out of the practice for some time, and though I can point you in the direction of more help, I cannot help you myself.”

“Seriously?” Cora asked, her voice stronger and rougher than it had been when she was younger. Her voice was always a sad reminder to Derek of how they had all changed since the fire.

“Seriously.” Deaton said.

It didn’t even sound mocking. Derek hated this guy.

Laura kept a straight face and let none of her emotions show. “What help can you give us?”

Deaton smiled serenely, “Your parents had a safety deposit box in which they kept many of their valuables including several old books on witchcraft. You may also try calling a friend of mine, a woman who lives in Boston, she has a history with many different types of witches. She takes great joy in ousting them from wherever they have settled.”

Laura thanked him and accepted the number from Deaton, but if she’d intended to talk more, Derek didn’t give her a chance because he sped out of there right away. Derek wanted to spend as little time with Deaton as possible.

 

The bank had been very understanding about the safety deposit box and had let them into it even without the key. Of course Laura had to prove her identity in triplicate as well as give proof of their parent’s death in the form of their death certificates, but they did get into the box, or more accurately boxes.

They opened three large safety deposit boxes which were filled with jars of different herbs and flowers and pieces of animals that Derek didn’t want to identify. They also held books and guides and a huge bestiary. It was only when Cora opened the last box that what they were doing hit home.

Inside there were stacks of papers. Some were the important papers, birth certificates, deeds, bank information, but there were also school projects, hand drawn pictures, old photos, and countless letters.

They went through some of it, but ended up putting it all in a box and taking it home. There was only so much crying they could do in a bank vault before they needed to take a break and get some air.

 

“I don’t get it.” Erica complained, tossing her book on the table like it was a trashy novel and not a two hundred year old tome with all of their family’s gathered information of the supernatural. “most of it isn’t even in English and the rest includes so many random, made-up sounding words, that it might as well not be English.”

“I’ve got nothing too.” Said Scott, who hadn’t actually been reading for the last hour but had been throwing things at Isaac, who had given up an hour before that and started cooking dinner.

“Maybe we should call that woman that Deaton suggested.” Boyd said, from where he was lounging on the couch under one of the thicker books. Derek wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t been sleeping up to this point.

Laura groaned and dropped her face into the center of the book she had been trying to work her way through. She sat back up and picked up her phone. “Yup, I’m doing it. Territory debates be damned.”

She dialed the number and waited while it rang. Everyone was unapologetically listening in.

“Hello?” a man’s voice answered, it sounded familiar, but Derek couldn’t really place it.

“Hi, I’m looking for Dorthy Mendel? Is this the right number?” Laura looked up at Derek in concern. He really didn’t want to go back to Deaton to ask for another contact.

“Yeah, this is the right number. What are you calling in regards to?” the guy seemed distracted, the noise in the background sounded like he was with several people.

“We have a problem in our territory, we were wondering if we could get her expertise.”

“What exactly is the problem?” he asked, sounding a little anxious to get off the phone.

“Well…” Laura hedged, they had no idea if this guy was in the know.

“Come on hon, spill it, I haven’t got a lot of time right now.”

Laura crinkled her nose in disgust. “We have a witch infestation here in Beacon Hills and they are killing people, we need help ousting them.” she spat.

“Oh shit, sorry.” The guy apologized, sounding way more sincere and interested now. “I’ve been fielding calls all way about people trying to get a hold of her collection. Had a guy call earlier claiming he had a gnome infestation and insisted he only needed her incredibly rare, incredibly expensive book on garden calamities in order to solve the issue. Didn’t seem to give a shit that she just died and that some of us are actually grieving, just wanted to pilfer her stuff under the guise of needing help.”

Laura smirked a little at the guy’s babbling. Derek kind of liked the guy, not that he would ever admit it.

Then they all seemed to realize what he said.

“Dorthy is dead?” Laura asked.

“Yeah, she passed about a week ago. Oh, shit, that was the worst way to tell you that wasn’t it, I’m so sorry, did you know her well?”

“No, no,” Laura placated quickly, “I never met her, didn’t even know about her before last week.”

The guy got suspicious again, “I don’t know what you heard last week, but we aren’t giving away anything in her collection. She left very specific instructions in her will and we aren’t doing anything else, no matter how much you pay us.”

“Oh my God, no, we only want help to get rid of our witches, I swear.” Laura looked a little mortified and Cora snickered at her. “Do you happen to know anyone who could help us?”

The guy sighed on the phone, “Sorry, it’s been a bad week. Umm… there are about six of us who were trained by Dorthy, we were sort of her misfit toy army.” The guy laughed humorlessly as some joke that he didn’t share.

“Okay?” Laura asked, “Are any of them any good at getting rid of witches?”

“Yeah,” the guys said, “but most of the girls can’t leave right now, what with dealing with the funeral and the wake and stuff. “I think Jordan is around somewhere and he might be able to go.”

“What about you?” Laura asked, Derek raised an eyebrow and Laura shrugged.

“Oh, me?” the guy sort of stuttered out. “Look I’m flattered you’re asking for me, but I try and stay out of California, let alone Beacon Hills.”

“Why?” Laura asked and Derek watched as confusion colored everyone’s expressions.

“I have some… there were some people there that died a long time ago. I don’t like going back and reminding myself of what I lost.”

“The Hale fire?” Laura guessed, both Cora and Derek gave an involuntary shudder.

“I—yeah, got it in one. Guess that’s the biggest thing to happen out there in several years isn’t.”

“yeah, it’s more than a little personal for us too. I’m Laura Hale.”

There was silence at the other end of the line, even his breathing had cut out.

“There were no survivors. Just…. Just Peter.” The guy said, all rushed out. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“There were four survivors, we just-- we hid from the woman who set the fire, we wanted her to think she succeeded so that she didn’t come after us again. Peter is dead now though, so that only leaves three of us.”

“Three of you?” the guy breathed out. He cut out suddenly, but he sounded strangled. “I’ll be there tomorrow.” He said and then hung up without another word.

Laura looked down at the phone in her hand.

“So that was weird.”

 

A day and a half later an unfamiliar heartbeat stood in front of the door and Scott got up to answer it.

Derek stayed sitting in the kitchen playing Zombie Squish on his phone and not paying attention to their visitor. He did, however, hear Isaac and Erica get up to check out who had arrived.

“Hey, I’m looking for Alpha Hale?” asked the man at the door, and Derek was up and out of his seat so fast that the chair hit the floor and bounced several times before lying still.

“Derek?” Laura called from upstairs, she could probably hear how fast his heart was beating.

Derek ignored her and charged into the main room, pushing aside both Erica and Isaac to get a good look at the person who had arrived at their door.

Stiles stood frozen in the doorway, mouth hanging open, and never broke eye contact with Derek.

Derek couldn’t move.

After another moment Stiles’ mouth started to move, but it still took a minte for sound to start coming out.

“You’re alive.”

Derek saw red. A big pulsing red filter covered everything he could see.

He was probably half wolfed out.

It didn’t seem to faze Stiles.

“I’m alive? That’s all you can say?” Derek asked. His voice was deathly quiet and all four betas moved out of the room.

“I thought you were dead. When the fire happened, I saw the damage—they told me there were no survivors.”

“Leave.” Derek said. He had no time for the man he had fallen in love with in a matter of days, the same man who had abandoned him the second he found out what Derek was.

“Derek, what’s going on?” Laura asked, coming into the room. She sent a cursory look at Stiles who hadn’t moved from the doorway.

It hit Derek that Laura had probably only met Stiles for a moment all those years ago, no reason for her to recognize him now.

“Laura, meet Stiles. He was my mate. Now he might as well be dead.”

Stiles looked pained, but he didn’t say anything, just kept staring at Derek.

“What are you doing here?” Laura asked him, her tone harsh and cold in reference to Derek’s pain.

Stiles diverted his gaze to her, if even for a moment, “You called me. Asked me for help with some witches.”

“We didn’t call you,” Derek spat at him, but then he thought about the voice on the phone, the one that had been familiar, if a little deeper.

Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, his whole face contorting in pain. Then his features relaxed like he was pulling on a mask of serenity and he turned to look fully at Laura.

“You asked me to clear the area of the witches that have been killing people in your territory. I came all the way from Boston to do it. I’ll do it with or without your help.”

Derek snarled at him. “I thought you hated the supernatural. You couldn’t handle it.”

Stiles turned his calm gaze to him and Derek willed the mask to crack. “I’m a spark, I couldn’t ignore the supernatural if I tried.”

“Then why would you—“ leave? Derek wanted to say, but he stopped himself because he knew the answer. It wasn’t that Derek was a werewolf, it was that Derek was Derek. Stiles simply hadn’t wanted to be with him.

“Leave.” Derek said again.

Stiles’ face flickered with pain again, but he didn’t move. “I’m staying until I get rid of the witches.”

Derek roared and threw one of the boxes from the table at him. “LEAVE!” the box hit the wall just to the left of Stiles head and exploded in a flurry of papers, but none of them seemed to be able to float within a foot radius of Stiles, they sort of slid off to the side, like there was something protecting him.

Derek didn’t give it a second thought because Stiles nodded to Laura and then left, not turning his back to Derek until he was gone from sight.

Cora stood in the kitchen doorway where she had been watching it all unfold.

“That was dramatic.”

 

“Why would he come back?” Laura asked him later as they crawled on the floor picking up the papers that Derek had thrown earlier. He had thrown the box of stuff from his parent’s safety deposit box and felt guilty that some of it was crinkled and mildly damaged.

“I don’t know.” Derek said. The anger from earlier had faded into a pain in his chest and a weariness in his movements.

He picked up what looked like a family tree done by a four year old Cora which spelled Derek ‘Derrik’ and Laura ‘Lora.’

“Why did he seem so relieved that you were alive?” Laura asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Why would he come all the way from Boston just from hearing that three of the Hales survived?”

“I don’t know, Laura, please, please stop asking.”

Laura looked up at him in shock which morphed into pity.

“I’m sorry, Der.”

Derek just shook his head.

“Der?”

“What, Laura?”

“Look at this.” She picked up an envelope from the ground and passed it over to him. It was addressed to his mom, but the return address was a certain Stiles Stilinski from Nevada. The post date was two months after Stiles left.

Derek snorted and tossed the letter aside, he could imagine the things Stiles had said, most of them were probably apologetic, but they were also likely pitying.

“There’s another one,” Laura said, handing him a second one. “And another!” she reached down into the pile.

Derek took the first two and stared at them. He could understand why Stiles would write one, but three?

“Oh my god, Derek, there are a ton of them.”

Derek looked back up at Laura and saw her hands full of letters and she was still picking up more.

“Do you think he changed his mind and asked to come back?” Laura asked, looking at all the letters.

“That or he was sending Mom threatening messages about us being werewolves. He might be a hunter.” Derek suggested.

“He said he was a spark, Derek, and he was relieved you were alive. That doesn’t sound like a hunter to me.” Laura picked up a random letter. “Mom and Dad kept them, don’t you think we should see what he was writing them about?”

“Laura,” he said, dreading what could be written inside these little white envelopes, “I don’t think I want to know.”

Laura didn’t even look up at him, just stared at the letters.

“If he is crazy or anti-werewolf, we need to know. He said he was staying in town to take care of the witches. We need to know if he is a threat.”

Derek lowered his gaze to the letter in his hand. There must have been something self-flagellating in him because he pulled open the already ripped flap and removed the letter.

His eyes danced from the address: “Hey” down to the signature, “Stiles J” and then he skimmed he contents.

The treatment might be working…

Dr. Greenberg is excited about the results…

Feeling less pain…

Loved your last letter…

Can’t believe about Derek and missing cat…

I’m starting to have hope…

“He was sick.” Derek said, almost absently. He reread the letter more carefully before dropping it and picking up another.

“He wrote to them constantly, telling them about his treatments.” Derek told Laura, who was just sitting there, watching him.

“I think she wrote back.” Derek said, setting down another letter. “She told him about me, about my life. He asked about my calc 2 exam in college. Wanted to know if I did well.”

“Laura,” Derek started, his voice a little misty, “he talked like he was involved in my life and I think Mom was expecting him to come back.”

“If he was sick, why would she let him leave?” Laura asked.

“I don’t know.” Derek said, staring down at the letter again, “I don’t know.”

 

 

After Derek had read every single letter in the box and had even read most of what was written in a little notebook they found of Stiles’ which chronicled his events in woods and his first impression of Derek the wolf, Derek wasn’t sure what he felt.

He left the apartment and was driving down the street with the windows down, following a scent he didn’t realize he’d memorized.

He found Stiles in a parking lot outside a motel at the edge of town.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, turning around to look at him.

Derek really studied him for the first time. His hair was longer, more wild, his chest was broader and he had more muscles than he had had before. He was wearing a tight t-shirt that revealed a tribal tattoo on his arm, just peeking out from beneath the sleeve. 

He looked really good.

He smelled really good.

He also sounded different.

“Your heartbeat changed.” Derek said. It wasn’t what he planned for his first words, but it was what came out.

“Shit, Derek,” Stiles swore, completely ignoring Derek’s statement. Stiles’ scent turned panicked.

 Stiles reached for Derek’s arm but Derek jerked back. Sorrow colored Stiles’ scent now, but Derek was too confused to feel guilty.

“We need to move.” Stiles said quickly, “I tracked them here.”

Careful now not to touch him, Stiles herded Derek with urgency in much the same way Derek had herded him all those years ago and lead them both out of the parking lot and behind the motel.

“Tracked who?” Derek asked. He was struggling with the feelings inside his chest. It felt almost felt wrong not to have Stiles hands on him, but Derek had felt hurt by him for too long to accept an explanation he barely had a grasp on.

“The coven.” Stiles said, leaning out past the edge of the building to look out into the parking lot. “I think they are using one of the rooms a power point for their pentacle.” Stiles wasn’t even looking at Derek as he explained. His eyes were focused on the doors of the rooms, as if he was searching for something.

“What?” Derek asked, pulling Stiles in front of him, trying to get him to focus on Derek and explain properly.

Almost as soon as he did it, Derek regretted putting his hands on Stiles. Stiles entire focus swung to Derek and he could feel the power beneath Stiles’ skin. It hummed and flowed beneath his fingers and Derek couldn’t decide if wanted to let go or hold on forever.

“The pentacle? The one they are recreating with every killing they perform? Each one is in a different place in Beacon Hills, each corresponding to the points in a pentacle. I looked at the locations of the other four killings and realized somewhere here must be where they expect to make the final point and complete the symbol.” Stiles explained rapidly. He was staring up into Derek’s eyes, with excitement, fear, and some other scent Derek couldn’t place, but he had a look on his face like he was discovering again that Derek hadn’t died in the fire.

It was a look that meant Derek had a hard time focusing on the dangers of the coven, while still fighting internally about whether he should trust Stiles after all the harm he caused.

His wolf wanted nothing more than accept Stiles as he was, to bond with him, to fight by his side, to protect him and work with him to protect their land, their territory, _their home._

Derek the man wanted to fully understand what could have caused Stiles to leave him, leave their bond all those years ago. Sick or not it didn’t matter because Stiles didn’t tell him, he just drove away leaving Derek to feel like an idiot because he believed his perfect mate couldn’t possibly be leaving him forever.

 _“It wasn’t forever, he came back_ ,” a traitorous voice in his head said.

Derek held on to the feeling of that first day alone, sitting on the porch as he felt his mate move farther and farther away, sad, but excited that Derek finally found the person he would spend the rest of his life with.

Then his father had come out and sat next to him, putting his arm around Derek’s shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay, Derek.” He had said.

“Of course it is, I found my mate.”

His dad had sighed and hugged him close. “Sometimes things don’t work out. Fate gets in the way. There’s nothing you can do but accept the loss and move on.”

Derek had pulled away from his father, turning to face him. “He’s coming back.” he said, but it had been less of the declaration he meant it as, and more a worried question.

“Maybe.” His dad had said, “but if he is, it won’t be for a damn long time.”

To Derek that meant never.

 

Derek held onto that crushing loss, the pain, the anger, and the confusion as he stood there now, facing Stiles. He couldn’t get to involved with him, couldn’t get his hopes up when he knew how much it hurt to be wrong.

Stiles seemed to sense something in him because he stepped away from Derek, breaking Derek’s hold.

Derek felt the loss, the sudden lack of warmth and magic beneath his hands, and he had restrain himself from reaching forward again.

Instead, he focused on the coven.

“What happens if they complete the pentacle?” he asked.

Stiles immediately moved his attention back to the parking lot, “if they complete the pentagram, then they control the natural magical flow through Beacon Hills. It will boost the coven’s power tenfold, and will give them the ability to control some pretty serious magic. They could easily wipe out your entire pack and take control of the territory.”

“We have to stop them.” Derek said, tearing his eyes away from Stiles and focusing his senses on the motel rooms.

“I’ve spent the last seven years of my life protecting wolves and their territories, I have no doubt I can handle them. “

Derek glanced back at him but Stiles was wiggling his fingers and staring at the motel, not even looking at Derek. Had Stiles really spent seven years protecting werewolves?

Derek wasn’t sure how to process that because it made it clear that Stiles was accepting of his kind, but did that mean that he hadn’t wanted to stay with Derek specifically and simply wanted to gallivant through the supernatural world on his own? Or was this some kind of recompense for leaving Derek and allowing him to move on by dating Kate who murdered almost his entire family?

Derek still couldn’t understand why Stiles would leave him if he was sick. Besides, Stiles seemed plenty fine now. What the hell happened seven years ago?

“Can you sense which room they are in?” Stiles asked, glancing up at Derek who had been glaring at Stiles’ back as he tried to make sense of everything. Stiles frowned briefly and his sent turned guilty and sad.

Derek focused on the heartbeats in the building and eliminated the majority of the rooms. He then went through and traced the various scents floating through the air, searching for the odor of sulfur, mugwart, and mold which had been at the previous crime scenes.

“That one.” Derek said, pointing at one of the rooms on the first floor, the door opening up onto the parking lot. The window was firmly shuttered so they couldn’t see in, but Derek could hear three heartbeats. “There are three of them, does that mean there are more somewhere else?”

“You only need three people to make a coven.” Stiles said, waving away Derek’s concern.

“I thought you needed thirteen.”

“Naw, that’s normally the max you can have in a coven before you consider splitting it. More than thirteen is considered unruly to control. Besides, the only reason thirteen is even considered an important number for witches is because of the Murray theory and I hardly trust her research method.” Stiles babbled.

Derek didn’t bother to ask questions about what the hell he was talking about because Stiles was already creepy towards the motel room, heedless of whether or not Derek was following.

“We should get my pack.” Derek said, following Stiles nonetheless. It wasn’t like he could just abandon Stiles here to do something stupid.

“There isn’t time.” Stiles said, “Venus is descending, so the opportune time to start the spell will be in the next couple of minutes. I have to stop them now before they start chanting.”

Derek froze, “What happens when they start chanting?”

“They start the ritual and it means I have to stop them and reverse the spell before the pentacle ignites and the magic in Beacon Hills becomes for the taking.”

Derek tiled his head towards the room, “Stiles, they started chanting,” he shouted and then took off running for the door.

“What?” Stiles shouted back, but he sprinted to keep up with Derek as Derek wolfed out and ripped off the motel door.

The three witches were standing in the center of the room, black ash forming a ring around them. Derek ran forward, intending to rip out their throats in order to stop the chanting, but he hit the edge of the ring and smacked into an invisible wall.

Stiles came skidding in behind him and suddenly the room was a wash of bright lights, loud chants, and piercing screams.

 “Mountain ash.” Stiles shouted, but that was the last coherent thing he said because he started calling out things in languages Derek didn’t understand.

While one witch continued chanting, the other two started a magical duel with Stiles, throwing magic back and forth and the room zinged with color and power. Stiles hit the first witch with something bright and green and the man crumpled to the ground. The second witch, a woman, was throwing red and yellow, but nothing hit past the protective bubble Stiles seemed to have around himself.

Derek dodged out of the way of the flying spells, knocking into the bedside table and nearly toppling a lamp. Derek gave a quick look between Stiles and the dueling witch, before studying the ash line and the lamp.

With barely a second thought, Derek ripped the lamp from the wall socket and then threw it at the back of the woman’s head. She crumpled slightly and then Stiles threw something blue and dark and she hit the floor, unmoving.

The last witch was still chanting, her voice growing in volume and speeding up as she watched her two companions fall.

Stiles ran forward dropping on his knees over the ash line and started his own chant.

Stiles and the witch seemed to be in a race for who would finish the spell first. Each was speaking faster and faster, lips moving over an unfamiliar language and Derek was left standing there in the middle of a motel room with absolutely no idea what to do.

Abruptly, the ash on the floor sparked and then fizzled, followed shortly by Stiles cry of triumph and Derek didn’t hesitate in darting forward and ripping out the throat of the remaining witch.

She sank to the floor with a gurgle and a cough and Stiles sprung forward, kicking her body out of the ash circle and scraping wildly at the floor in some sort of attempt to get the blood off the ground.

Terrified, Derek reached forward and pulled Stiles away, thinking Stiles had cracked seeing three people murdered in front of him, but Stiles only made another cry of alarm and then scrambled out of Derek’s hold.

“The blood! The blood!” he shouted, “a blood sacrifice is the last ingredient in the ritual.”

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, two lines of fire ignited on the floor of the hotel room and shot out across the ground at an angle.

“The pentacle is complete.” Stiles whispered.

“What does that mean?” Derek asked, horror leaking into his tone.

“It means the magic in Beacon Hills is for the taking. Anyone can come here and harness the power at the center of the pentacle.” Stiles started listing back and forth, his voice sounding lost and far away.

“How do we reverse it?” Derek asked, reaching forward and putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to steady him.

“I—I don’t know.” Stiles whispered. “At the moment, we can only keep people from harnessing it. I’ll have to research a way to put the magic back in the ground, but I honestly have no idea if it can be done.”

Stiles slumped to the floor and leaned back against the bed which had been pushed out of the way for the ritual. Derek sat down next to him and listened to the rapidly beating heart that was so unfamiliar to him.

“Your heartbeat changed,” Derek said, ignoring the absolute shit they had just gotten themselves into. “why?”

Stiles huffed. “Yeah umm, irregular heartbeat was one of the symptoms, I didn’t even realize it was odd when you first mention it, not until Dr. Martin pointed it out.”

Derek pushed the questions out of his head about Dr. Martin and focused on the symptoms.

“Symptom of what? Cancer?” he asked, thinking back to the letters.

“At first—that’s what Dr. Greenberg told me it was. Said I had six months to live. That’s why I decided to walk to coast. Thought it would be my last hurrah before I died.” Stiles stared forward, eyes not really focusing.

“But you didn’t—you didn’t die.” Derek pressed, trying to keep stiles focused on the past. He wasn’t sure why he needed verbal confirmation considering Stiles was right there in front of him, looking far more healthy than he did all those years ago, but after everything that just happened, it would be nice to hear.

Besides, Derek had no clue how he missed that Stiles was sick.

 “You were taking all those pills.” Derek stated.

“I was. Apparently that’s how he was doing it.”

“Doing what?” Derek asked, staring at the three dead bodies in front of them.

 “He was poisoning me. He put arsenic in my pills and made me believe I was dying. I went back to him to receive treatment for a disease I never had. I left you because I didn’t want you to see me die from a cancer that I didn’t end up having.”

Derek straightened, turning slightly so he could look Stiles in the eyes.

“Who did that to you?” Derek asked, his posture was rigid but he was having a hard time processing everything. He wanted something to do, some other witch to fight, but there was nothing left.

“Dr. Greenberg. He had this thing where he became obsessed with me and want to be with me. Thought the best way to do that was to be there with me while I was sick, wanted to care for me, wanted to be the one to cure me. Some sort of hero complex.” Stiles murmured. He had turned to meet Derek’s eyes but Derek was a little lost in the lines of Stiles’ face, looking at all the signs of the years the had past that Derek had missed out on.

“I should have been the one taking care of you.” Derek said. His voice then dropped soft and low, “you were my mate.”

He watched as Stiles’ features became haunted.

“I know what it’s like to watch someone you love die. I didn’t want that for you. Especially when Talia told me that wolves only love once, that you would never be able to move on if you fell in love with me and I died. Do you really think that you could have remained impartial to me while you cared for me?”

Derek knew the answer to that. He had been in love with Stiles since he first saw him limping through the woods, he’d have never hesitated in confirming the bond with a dying man.

“You said being a mate was a lot of responsibility.” Derek reminded him, he had played that conversation over in his head a million times in the years between then and now.

“It was. I tried to be responsible and make the best choice for you. The choice to be without me. I thought it would protect you.”

Derek laughed humorlessly. “You left me and I started dating a woman who murdered my entire family.”

Stiles smiled but it wasn’t a happy smile. “I came back after I was diagnosed with the arsenic poisoning. I didn’t know why your mom stopped writing me letters and I pulled up to a house of ash and tinder. I hated myself every day for letting you go when you had that in your future. I devoted my life to protecting people-families-from things like that.”

“By ousting witches?” Derek asked.

“By ousting witches.” Stiles confirmed, and this time his smile was a little more sincere, but they were both looking pointedly away from the destruction in front of them.

Derek’s face contorted again, “is Greenberg dead?”

“He was arrested about three years ago. He’s in state prison.” Stiles answered, “Is Kate Argent dead?”

“Yes. Peter killed her.” Derek said.

“Wow, that’s way more satisfying that state prison.” Stiles glanced at the blood on the floor and the still burning flames of their edge of the pentacle.

“You left me because you were sick and you didn’t want me to watch you die?” asked Derek, keeping his eyes on Stiles.

Stiles looked back, “Yes.”

“Will you stay?” Derek asked suddenly, “Will you help us keep people from the pentacle?”

Stiles blinked several times, “Are you sure? I—I know you were mad I left. I know you thought I abandoned you, but—but Derek, I never wanted to leave you, I just—I just didn’t want you to have to watch me die.”

“But you are not dying now?” Derek pressed, something in him urging Derek to just give in, to accept Stiles fully into the mate bond. To finally give his love to this man freely despite everything they had gone through.

“No.” Stiles snorted, “But with the life I live, with the witches…” Stiles waved his hand at the carnage in front of him. “and the other dangers that I see…”

“Stiles.” Derek said, interrupting him, “I’m a werewolf, this is as much my life style as it is yours, but now I need you, my pack needs you, we need you to stay here to help us protect Beacon Hills. Will you stay with me?”

Stiles looked up at him and smiled slightly.

“Always.” He whispered.

Derek grinned at him and despite the blood on his hand and the blood on Stiles, he leaned forward and closed the distance between them.

Then he finally got to have his first kiss with his mate.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! Sorry for the supreme medical inaccuracies but turns out that arsenic poisoning can be mistaken for cancer, who knew? (besides google and probably a whole bunch of doctors)
> 
> clearly Stiles is stupid in this story for taking pills from an unlabeled bottle, but I mean, a doctor tells you you are dying at like 19 and that the only way to live is to take these pills, wouldn't you do it?
> 
> Probably not, but it made for a good story
> 
> I really appreciate constructive criticism! Someone already made a suggestion and I ended up adding another three hundred words and completely changing the end of this, so please don't hesitate to share your (kindly suggested) opinion!


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